James Potter And The Morrigan Web (62 page)

A glass vial was pressed against James’ lips, followed by a gush of cold liquid. He gulped the liquid-- which tasted a bit like old copper knuts and dirty socks-- and coughed.

“Now let’s not be dramatic,” Madame Curio chided, setting the glass aside. “Anyone willing to swallow five of those horrible Weasley Fainting Fancies on a dare should have no problem with a little Draught of Rejuvenation.”

“F-Fainting--” James coughed, glancing around. He saw that he was back at Hogwarts, in the hospital wing. The light outside the tall windows was grey and watery, giving no indication of the time of day. “Fainting Fancies?”

“You of all people should know better, Mr. Potter,” Madame Curio huffed. “Taking dares about such silly things, especially on the train, with no medical staff to assist if things go awry. And things do always seem to go awry with you, don’t they? Fortunately for you, Rose Weasley, Ralph Deedle and that Malfoy boy had the sense to bring you straight to me from the train, telling me exactly what happened.”

James’ heart sank in his chest. “They carried me here from the train? Like, in front of everybody?”

“Well there was little they could do to hide it, was there?” Madame Curio replied, producing a thermometer and thrusting it into James’ mouth.

He flopped back against the rumpled pillows. “How long have we been back, then?” he mumbled around the thermometer.

“Three and a half days,” Madame Curio sniffed. “I was seriously beginning to wonder if I was going to have to transfer you to St. Mungos.”

“Three days!?” James nearly choked again, scrambling upright. Madame Curio pushed him back down.

“Yes, three days, so you can manage five more minutes. Now lie still and stop talking.”

When Madame Curio finally released him, James made his way toward the Great Hall, where he could hear the dull thrum and clatter of dinner conversation. He tried to enter surreptitiously, angling around the side wall toward the Gryffindor table, but nonetheless drew an increasing number of glances and half-whispered comments. As James passed, Lance Vassar smirked and shook his head, joined by his constant entourage of admirers. From the Slytherin table, Albus craned, and began to applaud. This was joined by a smattering of others throughout the hall, all grinning, some miming fainting, hands to their foreheads.

“Hilarious,” James huffed, dropping to a seat between Rose and Scorpius. “Fainting Fancies.”

“What were we supposed to do?” Rose hissed. “It was like you were dead! By the time we got to Hogsmeade I’d tried every reviving charm I know. We couldn’t tell anyone about the Dream Inducers, could we?”

“The Fainting Fancies were Scorpius’ idea,” Ralph said, pushing a platter of steak and kidney pie at James. “When we told him what happened, he came up with that straight away, even had a few of them in his pocket to make it all seem legit. Did the job nicely when we got to Madame Curio.”

James accepted the platter, suddenly realizing just how ravenous he was. “Except that now everyone thinks I’m some prat who’ll swallow anything on a dare.”

“Better that than having Professor Avior knowing you nicked some of his wares,” Rose said in a low voice. “By the way, glad you finally woke up.”

“So tell,” Scorpius said seriously, pushing aside his own plate and leaning close. “Apparently the Yuxa Baslatma worked, yes? We’ve been waiting half a week to hear the mysterious answer to our problems. What did you see?”

James met Scorpius’ eyes, then drew a deep breath, unsure where to start. He nodded, and then shook his head. “It worked. But I don’t have any clue what any of it meant.”

“Tell,” Rose insisted. “Maybe we can help work it out.”

James shook his head firmly, as if to dislodge something in his brain. “Let me eat. And think a bit. I still feel like there’s a cloud jammed into my head. Then we’ll discuss it. In the library.”

The others agreed to this reluctantly. Eventually, after James’ third helping of steak and kidney pie (and Ralph’s fourth pumpkin muffin) they made their way to the library, where James told them everything he could remember. When he finished, there was a moment of thoughtful silence.

“How’s that an answer to our most important question?” Ralph finally asked.

Rose frowned. “It does seem pretty vague. Perhaps it will make sense eventually?”

“Who’s Quinn?” Scorpius mused, leaning back in his chair. “That’s really the key to everything.”

“Quincy is one of the names the Collector is using as the new American vice president,” Scorpius suggested doubtfully.

James sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I wish it was that easy. The Quinn in my dream had it as a last name, and he stopped using it as soon as he moved away from Philadelphia. Who knows what name he’s going by now? All I know is that all of this started because of what happened when Zane, Ralph and I went through the timelock and followed Magnussen.”

“I
told
you it was dangerous meddling about in time!” Rose rallied, poking James in the chest. “I warned you! That’s why Time Turners have been outlawed! The past is no place to go mucking about in!”

“Cool your cauldron, Weasley,” Scorpius drawled in a bored voice. “Clumsy as they probably were, James, Deedle and Walker didn’t change anything. They just watched it all happen from behind a bunch of crates. Like mice.”

“Well,” Ralph, objected mildly. “Not like mice, exactly. More like… like lemurs.”

“Foxes,” James amended. “Stealthy like.”

“You can’t know you didn’t change things,” Rose insisted seriously. “It’s a scientific law: observing things changes the outcome. Even the Muggles know that.”

Ralph blinked at Rose. “Where do you get this stuff?”

Rose flopped backwards in her chair and crossed her arms huffily. “Just because you haven’t read it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“So what did I miss here in the land of the living?” James asked tiredly. For someone who had slept for almost four days, he felt surprisingly exhausted.

“Nothing good,” Ralph admitted in a low voice. “Professor Revalvier isn’t the only good teacher whose been replaced by some dodgy Ministry hack. Tabitha Corsica has taken over for Professor Longbottom in Herbology, just like we heard last time we were at Yorke. Grudje apparently arranged it himself.”

“She’s actually not a bad teacher, really.” Rose sniffed. “I mean, she’s a despicable person and all, sure, but still…”

James rolled his eyes, dreading the prospect of sitting beneath that cool, pretty, hateful gaze next Herbology. “I don’t care how good a teacher she’s pretending to be. She’s vicious and mad. And besides, nobody knows more about Herbology than Professor Longbottom.”

Nobody argued with that.

“That’s just the start, though,” Rose went on, “Filch is running more rampant than ever, haunting the halls at all hours with that cane of his, just looking for people to sock with detention. He’s filling up the Charms classroom most nights with his victims, making them scrub old trophies, do lines, or worse.”

“What’s worse than doing lines with those bloody black quills?” James frowned, remembering the cuts on the back of his sister’s hand, his temper rising.

“Oh, he doesn’t use those in public,” Ralph answered. “Those are for special offenders who have to do detention down in his office. Nobody is allowed to talk about it, but we all know that’s what happens there.”

“Argus Filch is a sadist,” Scorpius said simply. “He likes hurting people, but he gets bored with the same things over and over. To keep it enjoyable he has to get… inventive.”

“He makes students levitate their textbooks.” Rose whispered.

James blinked. “Well. That doesn’t sound so--”

“For hours at a time,” Ralph added. “Have you ever tried that? It’s easy for the first few minutes, sure. But eventually your arm gets tired, so tired it hurts. And your concentration weakens.”

“And if you drop the book,” Scorpius said, “it falls into a cauldron of acid, destroying it. You’re out a textbook and Filch just laughs, clucking his tongue and talking about how wasteful it is, and how your ‘mummy and daddy’ will soon run out of money to replace your books. And then he just makes you start over with another one from your school bag.”

“Who’s he doing this to?” James asked, his cheeks reddening. “Has he done it to Lily?”

“Lily is keeping herself out of trouble,” Rose soothed. “But Scorpius has first-hand experience. He spent three hours levitating his books.”

“Only dropped one,” Ralph nodded, impressed.

“Fortunately my family can afford all the books I need,” Scorpius said with a wave of his hand. “And my father approves of harsh punishments. He thinks it will ‘put the Slytherin back in me’.”

A shadow passed over the table and James felt someone standing behind him. He glanced up and was chilled by the sight of Filch himself, suddenly looming over him, a grim, self-satisfied smile creasing his wrinkled face.

“Doing homework are we?” he asked in a low, grating voice.

“Yes,” Ralph answered loudly, at exactly the same time that Rose said, “No.” She glared at Ralph, and then glanced back at the caretaker.

“We’re finished, sir. We…
were
doing homework. Now we’re just… er, talking.”

Filch raised his stubbly chin, his eyes sparkling meanly. “Strange that I see no books. Difficult to do homework without books. Or quills. Or
parchment
.”

James tried not to wilt in Filch’s long shadow. He could smell cold and mustiness on the man’s worn leather coat. “We’re discussing a class project, sir. Something for, er, Muggle Studies.” This seemed safe enough, as Muggle Studies did not, this term, require any books.

Filch glared down at James for a long moment, his eyes narrowed, his mouth cinched up on one side, consideringly. “Talking’s for common rooms,” he finally said in a low, grating voice. “The library is for quiet.”

Scorpius cleared his throat loudly, drawing attention away from James. “Right you are sir. If you will excuse us, then, we’ll just be on our way. Won’t we?”

He climbed to his feet and straightened his robes. James, Rose and Ralph followed suit. Filch did not move.

“Enjoy your nice long nap, Mr. Potter?” he asked pointedly.

James felt the heat rise to his cheeks again and knew they were burning red. Angry retorts crowded into his mind, clamouring to be spoken. Instead, he glanced away, toward the distant librarian’s desk, and merely said, “Is sleeping against the rules, sir?”

Filch’s smile widened, showing his yellow teeth. “It may well be. You’ve missed several days’ classes, Mr. Potter. Your professors mind such things. I, however, do not.
I
mind that you are a foolish, stupid boy who seems to attract trouble the way rotten food attracts flies.”

James felt the anger welling up in him, nearly bursting forth. And then he realized something: Filch was
trying
to anger him. The caretaker was hoping to provoke a reason to give James detention. And it had almost worked. Realizing this, the rage slowly subsided. He glanced up at Filch thoughtfully.

“Enjoying my father’s cloak, Mr. Filch?” he asked, looking the old man square in the eye. “He knows that you have it, you know.”

Filch’s smile dried up in an instant. “That cloak was confiscated,” he growled peevishly. “All very nice and legal. If your father dislikes it, he can take it up with the headmaster, and I would very much like to see him try. In the meantime, I suggest you keep your cheeky comments to yourself.”

With that, he took a step backward, allowing James room to move around him. Tentatively, the four students trickled away, heading toward the door, expecting Filch to call them back at any moment. He did not, but he watched them beadily, angrily.

“That was really stupid, James,” Rose said quietly as they climbed the stairs. “Brave, but stupid.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Scorpius countered. “It was bloody brilliant. Besides, what’s the worst he can do?”

James considered this for a moment, unsure if the answer was particularly comforting. “So what did you do to get detention anyway?” he asked as they neared the portrait hole.

“A trifle,” Scorpius replied in a bored voice, then, to the portrait of the Fat Lady. “Flitterbloom.”

The Fat Lady nodded and swung aside in her frame, revealing the entrance to the common room. Scorpius climbed through.

Rose turned to James before following Scorpius. “He took the blame for the Fainting Fancies dare,” she explained. “Said he told you you were a Flobberworm if you refused. That’s why he got detention.”

James blinked at her, and then glanced through the portrait hole, watching Scorpius hurl himself into a saggy chair by the hearth. He didn’t know what to say.

“Let’s just hope,” Rose sighed, turning to clamber through the hole herself. “That that dream of yours ends up being worth it.”

The following weeks went by in a sort of hectic blur. James quickly learned that both the new Wizlit professor, Herbettina Blovius, and Herbology’s Tabitha Corsica had taken to assigning crippling amounts of homework. James, having missed most of his first week back, found himself immediately buried under a seemingly insurmountable pile of essays, worksheets and literature assignments. Fortunately, Rose was able to assist with the latter, having already read most of the books on Blovius’ reading list and providing James with a quick verbal synopsis of each.